


Taking Risks

by Bullfinch



Series: Piper & Bash [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4413545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piper and Bash stop to help a town under attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: They're older now, probably early 20s.

Bash halts, tugging the reins so suddenly his horse dances back a few steps.

Piper comes up alongside him, squinting in the afternoon sun. Clouds of breath mist up from their horses’ nostrils. Piper strains to listen but hears nothing except the rustling of the trees all around them, the chirps of a few birds who’ve decided to brave the winter.

A moment later Bash turns to him. “Smoke.”

Piper doesn’t see anything over the trees. “Where do you see it?”

“Don’t. I smell it.” He urges his horse into a canter.

Piper follows, trusting Bash.

The bumpy road twists and turns, so they don’t see the town until they’re less than a quarter-mile away. It’s walled off by thick sections of tree trunks forming tall palisades around what looks like the entire periphery. There’s a group of people in front of the gate clustered around a small fire, and Piper seems them hastily form up, a line in front kneeling and one in back standing, crossbows aimed. He jerks the reins, directing his horse into the trees. He’d rather not be shot at.

“Whoa, wait, we’re here to help!” Bash pulls up, raising his hands in surrender. Piper waits next to the treeline, loosely gripping the bow secured to his saddle. He’ll leave the peacemaking to Bash. He scans as best he can from this distance. The guards haven’t budged. Then the wind shifts slightly, and the scent finally hits him as his eyes travel upwards. Several plumes of dark smoke rise from inside the town.

One woman breaks away from the rear line and slips through the gates into the town. There’s a strained pause, during which Bash stays smack in the middle of the road and makes no effort to head toward the cover of the treeline. Piper doesn’t bother saying anything to him. If he were going to protect himself, he would have done it already.

Then two women come back through the gates. One of them calls to the guards. “Come on, they clearly aren’t of the Folk! Get out of their way!”

Bash has already spurred his horse forward. Piper follows, his free hand now resting on the haft of his mace. The group in front of the gate break up, crossbows drifting down as they make way. They spare a few glances at the newcomers but no more. Piper frowns. Definitely expecting an attack, although, from the smoke, it looks like they’ve already had one. The woman who allowed them in walks beside their horses as they come through the gates. “I’m Kendul é Dise, I’m the mayor of Needlefall.”

The streets are deserted, except for small groups of people now and then running back and forth, carrying supplies or wounded. Or corpses. Hard to tell. Charred spots dot the roofs of houses and the insides of the palisades. Shouts cut the air. Piper shivers a little at the transition, the peaceful forest at his back, the disordered scene in front of him. Like someone transplanted this town here from the edge of a war zone. It doesn’t seem to belong. “Is anything still on fire?” he hears himself asking.

“Uh—well, yes. We got everything except a big blaze near the western edge that just won’t quit—“ The woman points to a thick tower of black smoke visible between the roofs of adjacent houses.

Piper directs his horse that way, calls over his shoulder. “I’m going to put that out. Bash, I’ll find you later.”

“Be careful, Piper!”

He doesn’t respond, just urges his horse into a trot. No displays of closeness. No one can know.

He turns a corner. There, at the end of the street, the flames flicker and roar. That’s more than one house gone up for sure. The street’s too wide for the opposite houses to catch, which is a blessing, although the adjacent ones are likely another story. As he draws closer he starts to feel the heat on his face.

So he dismounts, guiding his horse to an alley and leaving it. It’s well-trained but won’t like being close to a fire that huge. He leaves his cloak with it, and his overcoat, and the hat and gloves. There’s a cold breeze that cuts through his shirt. He heads for the end of the street. Won’t be cold for long.

The heat really hits him when he’s still more than a dozen yards away, and he shields his face. It is bad. Three or four structures have gone up, and the block is packed close enough so the surrounding buildings are definitely at risk. But there’s people wrapped in thick clothing dashing in and out with what look like buckets of water, dousing the walls of the houses in danger. Preventive measures. They must have already given up on the blaze itself.

Closer. The heat is nearing unbearable. Someone must see him, because he hears a yell: “You can’t go in there!”

He’s already started to descend, but he surfaces again, replies, “It’s okay, I know what I’m doing.”

No more protests. Apparently they gave up on him too. Good enough. He sinks back down into the trance and walks forward, toward the house at the center of the blaze.

The heat so bad it’s painful now and he’s still a few yards away from the front door. But he’s starting to feel the fire in his sixth sense, a roaring presence searching for more to consume. No matter who sets it, the fire’s intention is always the same. Now he just has to do some convincing.  _Let me pass._

The front wall of the home is little more than a sheet of flame, a few tongues flicking out to lick his face. He feels no pain anymore. He reaches out and pushes open the door.

His hand does not burn.

The trance is so deep now that fire is the only thing he sees, everything else defined by its absence. He picks out furniture from the negative spaces and goes around it, advancing into the house until his way is blocked by fallen timbers. The air here is more smoke than air. He grimaces, exhaling, suppresses a cough. Can’t get around that as he is now. He’ll have to make this quick.

_Come to me._

He meets with less resistance than he’d feared. The fire has been burning for a while now, but it hasn’t been able to take any new houses. The stagnant state is antithetical to its nature. He hardens his will.  _Come to me._

Heat, roaring up to slap against his face and soak into him. He gasps with the shock of it, getting a lungful of smoke. Mistake. He raises an arm to his mouth, barely feels the cloth of his sleeve against his lips. His senses are otherwise engaged. Another wave of heat slopping over his back, engulfing him. He hisses. That one burned. But he opens himself up to it, taking it in.

Flames slither toward him uncertainly, then twist up around him, sinking into his skin. There’s a lot, and he has to pace himself or risk sustaining damage. But he keeps going. He’s the only one who can do this. The flames have him completely surrounded now, and they close around him like a thick-walled cocoon, sealing him in.

For a second he falters, thrashing against the trance reflexively. It’s too much, he can’t absorb it all. But the panic hits a second later, and he locks his focus down. If he just lets it go right now, the explosion will kill him and anyone else within a hundred feet, and it’ll send the blaze out of control for sure. So he keeps feeding the fire into himself as fast as he can handle. Feels like he’s about to go up in a cloud of steam.

And then there’s no more. Nothing around him but dark and smoke. Warily he eases out of the trance.

The fire is out.

Smoke still rises from the burned timbers, so he stumbles back through the house. His vision is murky and unclear, not yet recovered from the trance state, and he trips over ruined furniture, staggers upright, keeps moving. Finally he hits the front door and bursts onto the street, sinking to his knees on the cobblestones and starting to hack his lungs out.

His skin where he can see it is bright red, but not from burns. His body is just far too hot right now. He strips his shirt off, exposing his chest and back to the wintry air. Can feel heat sloughing off of him. He takes in a shuddering breath, and cold spikes through his lungs, setting off a renewed fit of coughing.

Then someone’s kneeling next to him. “Seven hells, son, what did you do?”

“Put.” Piper squeezes his eyes shut. “Fire. Out.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” the woman says. “Are you okay?”

He nods. “One. One minute.”

But that’s all he’ll allow himself. Can’t have Bash finding him like this. He spits on the ground. It’s black with soot. Damn. Stayed in there too long.

“Maybe we should take you to— _ah!”_

The woman tries to grasp his arm, then jerks her hand away. Piper shakes his head. “Sorry. Shouldn’t touch me.”

She stares at him. “You’re burning up.”

He grins. That’s not too far off. He gropes for his shirt, slips it back on. “Any other fires?”

“No, we got the rest of ‘em.”

Good. He’s not sure he could handle it anyway. He struggles to his feet. The woman steadies him when he wavers, able to touch him now through the shirt. The pressure of her hands is actually very comforting. He wipes his mouth. “Thank you.”

She smacks him on the back, making him cough again. “Are you kidding me? You’re the one who put that fire out. Who the hell are you, anyways?”

“Uh—Piper. Piper Grey.” Weird. It’s usually Bash people thank.

“Well, I’m Kos. We should get you to the hall, our healers—“

“PIPER!”

He looks up sharply and shakes off Kos’s hands—rude of him, he realizes, and mutters “Sorry.” But he refuses to give Bash any reason to worry about him, especially when they’ve got so much else to deal with here.

Bash jogs up to them, staring at the destroyed houses. “Zell’s teeth, Piper, did you put that all out yourself?”

“Uh-huh.” He sees the concern creasing Bash’s face and heads it off. “Don’t worry, I’m fine.” Just as he starts hacking away again. Great. He turns away and tries to put a lid on it, tries to wave Bash off. And does not succeed. Bash’s huge hand rubs wide circles over his back. Piper hears him introducing himself to Kos.

Finally he can speak again. “So—what’s the situation?”

Bash’s hand doesn’t leave his back. “Well, I talked to the mayor, and she said they got attacked by some of the less friendly residents of these woods. Namely fae.”

Kos picks the story up. “Yeah, happens once or twice a decade usually. This time, though, there were more of them. We fought them off like normal—they don’t like fire, so we light our arrows and bolts. This happened—“ She gestures at the burned homes. “—when one of ‘em started careening all over the place after it got shot.”

“But Kendul said it was different this time, right?” Bash asks.

“Mm-hmm.” Kos’s face darkens. “They sent out these…I don’t know, like dandelion seeds or something. It was like poison. People started getting real sick. The fae retreated…got to be close to two hours ago now. And I still see people who thought they escaped just now falling ill.”

Piper’s already pushing past them. “Where are the sick?”

“Uh—the hall. Center of town. I was gonna take you there to get checked out.” Kos follows him, Bash behind her.

“Don’t need checking out,” he tells her. “I’m a healer, I can help.”

Kos stops in her tracks, then jogs to catch up. “You’re a healer too? Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Take care of himself,” Bash grumbles.

“Or scout,” Piper adds. “Or lift really heavy objects. I assume you’ll be doing one or both of those.”

“Yeah, scouting. Kendul thinks they might come back—sometimes they do a second run a few hours after, she says.”

“Then you should go do that. Kos can show me to the hall.” He keeps walking. Bash halts for a moment, then comes up again, takes his arm.

Piper pulls away gently. Part of it attributable, as always, to the fear of discovery. But he can feel another coughing fit coming on and doesn’t want Bash to stay.

It works. Bash breaks away, heading in the direction of the front gate. Piper waits until he’s out of sight, then buckles and starts hacking his lungs out once more.

“Whoa there.” Kos crouches next to him. “I really think you should let yourself get checked out.”

“Uh-uh.” He stands shakily. “If people are really sick, I need to help.”

Kos sighs. “Okay, tough guy, whatever you say.”

He smiles.

His horse is standing placidly right where he left it, and he leads it by the reins. It’s already carrying a lot and he doesn’t want to add both himself and Kos to that burden.

The hall is easy to pick out. It’s an enormous building, rough logs stacked circumferentially to give it a polygonal shape. The roof is a wide, low dome. Kos takes his horse and points him towards the nearest door. He pauses before going in, takes an experimental deep breath. A mild seizing in his chest. Damn. He clamps down on the cough reflex and shoves the door open.

Inside it’s chaos. The building is forty yards from wall to wall, and the floor is still nearly full of people lain out, moaning, shivering, or unconscious. Or dead, he suspects. Some are wounded, bloody bandages wrapped around various body parts. Between them tired-looking healers shuffle from patient to patient, kneeling and murmuring spells.

“Piper, right? Your boss told me you were coming.”

Piper jumps. It’s the mayor, Kendul, standing at his elbow. She frowns at him. “Aren’t you cold?”

He’s still in just his shirt. “No. I can heal, where do you need me?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Did you really put that fire out?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” She nods thoughtfully. “Well, with power like that, thank Ehlonna you’re here. Come with me.”

She leads him into the fray. There’s little space between the patients, and Piper has to take care not to step on any fingers. It seems everyone he passes is in very bad shape. He saw some of the walking wounded in town, helping out with everyone else, and it looks like only the worst were brought here. As for the sick—it’s not like any illness he’s familiar with.

They’re…gray. Not in the traditional sick way, but literally gray, blossoms of pale colorlessness blooming on their brown skin. He counts less than a dozen healers in the room, caring for well over a hundred people.

They’re in trouble.

“This is Halda.”

Kendul is crouching, and Piper kneels beside her.

Halda is an old man. Most of his exposed skin is the same color as his hair. He takes rapid, shallow breaths, his ribcage prominent in a way that can’t be anything but abnormal. “This looks bad.” Piper glances over his shoulder at the rest of the room. “Why isn’t anyone taking care of him?”

“Because he’s too far gone and we can’t afford to waste the effort.”

A bit cold, but she has a point. Piper nods.

“He was the first of the sick.” She gestures. “Have a look. This is how the disease progresses.”

Piper lays his hands on Halda’s chest and shuts his eyes. “This might take a minute.”

He sinks into the trance again.

Bodies are much more complicated than fire. Tissues, organs, blood, all reducible much further down than he can reach with his level of skill. So he looks at the big picture first.

That’s enough to help him focus in. Piper looks closer. Negative spaces where there should be flesh, all throughout the man’s body. “Is that—“ Not roots, more like a net…  _“—fungus?”_

“Yes. Passes unnoticed through the body somehow, then grabs hold and grows very quickly.”

The trance is slipping as he tries to listen to Kendul, so he lets it go. “What have you been doing so far?”

She sighs. “Well, we don’t have the resources to fight it off for them, so mainly what we’ve been doing is encouraging them to fight it off themselves. And giving them a boost if they’re losing.”

“And Halda…”

“Fought it with everything he had. Then he ran out.”

“I see.” Piper stands. “Is it transmissible?”

Kendul guffaws. “I hope not.” Then she collects herself. “Sorry. No, as far as we can tell.”

The slip of composure is more amusing than worrying. Considering the situation, with the entire town looking to her, he’s impressed she’s held it down so well. “I’ll get to work. Call for me if you need help with anything.”

“Okay. And…Piper?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Piper gives her a grin. “Anytime.”

Then she’s off, heading for the entrance again. Piper stretches, shakes himself out. Time to start doing triage.

Everyone he examines belongs in the high-priority category. So much for triage. He has to split the category into “will be all right for fifteen more minutes” or “needs immediate help to stave off death or irreversible damage.”

There’s a woman, unconscious, with a chunk of burned wood in her side. The healers left it in to stem the bleeding, but it’s not enough. Piper is experienced with wounds. This shouldn’t be too hard.

He rips the wood out. The woman jerks awake and screams. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and sticks his fingers in the wound.

Still screaming, she grabs his wrist, but she doesn’t have the strength to pull his hand away. Blood seeps sluggishly around his fingers. Closing his eyes, he finds her body in his sixth sense, maps it onto his own.  _Clot_ , he thinks.  _Clot_.

She’s used up most of her resources already—this wasn’t her only wound—but Piper is healthy, and she imitates him, her blood flooding with the materials it needs to close off the leaking vessels. Crying now, she still tries to drag his hand from the wound. He stays for only another moment before pulling away.

“Try not to move,” he tells her. “That wound is delicate. If you disturb it too much you’ll bleed to death. Do you understand?”

She blinks through teary eyes and nods at him.

In different circumstances he’d kill the pain, but he can’t afford the time or energy. A glance around the room tells him no one even looked up at the screaming. He moves on to inspect the next patient. A man. In the time it took Piper to treat the woman, this man went from bad to unsalvageable. Next.

Another woman. Sick, not wounded. He settles into the trance. Tiny networks of hyphae, budding all over. Her body has just started noticing them. But she’s young, she has the ability to fight it. Piper finds the fungal infiltrations and lights them up, spurring her infection response to action.

Good enough. He comes out of the trance. Next.

It’s harder with the older patients. He can’t just tell their bodies what to do—instead, like the fire, they need convincing. And some are more resistant than others. He has to go deep, pushing himself further down in the trance than he’s ever gone. It’s tough. Like being submerged under a hundred feet of water and swimming down instead of up. Especially when, mapping his body onto theirs, the borders start to blur. And he starts to think he’s the one infected.

The reflexive terror pulls him out once, with a jolt. His vision remains blotchy and dark for a moment, and he wipes his forehead. The coldest day of the year and he’s sweating.

He replaces his hands on the man’s chest and dives back in.

At first he keeps count of the ones he’s helped, mostly to bolster himself. The work is taxing, and he could use a little optimism. Then he starts having to go back and give some of the sicker patients a second boost, or a third. His count slows, and after a while he loses track.

One elderly woman just keeps sliding back. The fungus hasn’t damaged her much, but it seems to keep advancing no matter what he does. After a fourth treatment, he sits back, pressing a hand to his eyes. Then, when his vision clears, he looks around. Against the near wall one of the healers is sitting, eyes closed, mouth slack. Asleep. Piper comes up to her and shakes her gently.

She rouses, blinking. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

“Sorry to wake you. Um—I’m Piper. I’m helping.”

“Olenda.” She sticks out her hand.

Piper shakes it. Her grip has no energy. Neither does his. “Have we cured any of them? I mean, killed the fungus completely?”

“Mm-hmm.” Olenda shuts her eyes again.

“Oh.” Well, that’s good. Nice to have some hope. “How many?”

She raises her fingers in a V.

Two. Out of eighty or more infected.

Piper stands. “All right. Thanks. You can go back to sleep.”

The V morphs into a thumbs-up, then she drops her hand.

Piper heads back to where he was. In the absence of hope, there’s always survival. He kneels. A man with a crushed forearm. He’s sick, too. Piper closes his eyes.

It keeps getting harder. Piper’s tired, and each time he uses his own body to aid someone else a little more energy leaches away. Which makes it so he needs even more focus to maintain the trances. He gives the elderly lady a fifth boost. For the first time he thinks he might actually have made progress on her. It takes a good minute for the darkness to clear from his vision. When he comes out of it the lady is holding his hand in her withered fingers. “Are you all right, son? You don’t look well.”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He squeezes her hand briefly. “Thank you.”

“Are you sure you don’t have a fever? You’re hot as a hellsprite.”

He gazes down. His skin is red. The sweat has been trickling down his back for a while now. “Yes. Don’t worry about me.”

Slowly he pushes himself to his feet and trudges to the next patient. It’s hard.  _But I can do it._  He hasn’t dropped dead of exhaustion yet, and he’s still helping people. _It’s hard, but I can do it._

In, treated, and out again. He looks up. Across from him, there’s a darker smudge in the dark smudge of his vision. He squints.

It resolves. Bash grins at him. “Hey, Piper.”

Shit. “Hey.” Piper tries to look healthy and energetic. “How’d scouting go?”

“Went okay. Kendul thinks we’re safe if they haven’t shown up by now. I just took a nap, actually.” He grows more serious. “How’s it going here?”

“Everyone’s sick.” Piper rubs his eyes. “Some are looking better, but we keep losing people.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We’re making progress.” He rises, careful not to waver. “Listen, Bash, I have to get back to work.”

“Okay.” Bash stands. “I’m gonna be here for a little while strategizing with Kendul. Don’t forget to take breaks.”

“Right.” Piper restrains himself from rolling his eyes. As if.

Fewer healers are active now. They must be out of magic. Piper rolls his shoulders as he kneels again. That won’t happen for him. His own particular magic can last as long as he can. Olenda’s back in, a few yards away, brow creased, murmuring over a patient. Piper bends to his own work.

He never had much hope for this man. Not elderly, but badly wounded, and simply unable to keep up with both the infection and the bleeding. Piper lingers for a moment, inspecting, just in case there’s something he can do.

There’s not. Of course The man held on astoundingly long as it was. So he withdraws from the trance and shuffles to the next patient without bothering to stand, or even to wait for the half-blindness to resolve.

He recognizes her. The first sick woman he worked on, the young one. One hand on her stomach and another on her shoulder, and, muscling aside the weighty reluctance, he plunges down, deep into the smothering dark of the trance.

A little shock of surprise. She’s doing well, better than he expected. With a little effort, he might be able to clear the fungus from her completely. He pushes forward.

It’s not as easy as it looked at first. The infection is dug in, and she’s been fighting it for a while. Piper sighs internally, then infuses her with his own will again.  _More. Give it more._

Her body grinds into action, with Piper pushing every step of the way.  _More. Give it more. Give it—_

The trance starts to slip. Too much focus on the curing. Piper curses himself and grasps for it, but it’s too late. The buoyancy hauls him up faster than he can resist it, and he breaks out nauseous and disoriented.

He shakes his head, frustrated. Almost there. He staggers to his feet. Maybe if another one of the healers added their magic to his. All he sees are dark splotches right now but a few are moving. Someone yells something. He heads for one of the moving splotches. Should be a healer, the sick certainly aren’t up and about. He takes a step—

—and pitches forward, his vision going black.


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing he knows, his vision is back and his legs aren’t under him.

Something must be holding him up, because he’s not on the ground, staring instead across at the opposite wall. He plants his feet on the floor and stands with caution.

“Okay, Piper, it’s time for you to get some rest.”

Bash’s voice. Piper turns. Bash, right behind him, still not letting go. Things start making sense. Piper exhales. Great. “I fainted?”

Bash nods. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m fine.” Piper pushes bash away in irritation. “I just need a minute to pull myself together. This woman’s almost cured, if I had another healer I could—“

“Piper, you do anymore you might hurt yourself.”

Kendul’s jogging up. “Wow, you almost went down like a sack of potatoes.”

Piper frowns. How’d Bash get here in time to catch him? Must have—ridiculous. Teleported over. Waste of magic. “I can keep going, I just need to rest for a minute.”

“More than a minute.” Bash holds his arm. “Piper, you’re done. I’m making you get some sleep.”

“You’re not making me do anything.” Piper yanks his arm away. But the motion is too vehement, and he overbalances—

—and wakes up once more, this time staring at Bash’s chest.

Fainted again. He blinks, his head fuzzy. Damn it all.

Kendul’s drawl. “Son, you don’t stop now, you’re gonna end up on the floor with the rest of these poor souls.”

“We can cure her,” Piper mumbles. “We have to.”

“I’ll put someone else on that.”

“I can help.”

“Piper, it’s morning,” Bash says. “You’ve been awake for over a day.”

“What? No it’s…” He pushes himself upright, looks for a window. Wan light filters through. When did that happen? He noticed when it grew dark, but not when the sun rose…

Bash’s hands are still pressed firmly on his back and chest, steadying him. “If you don’t come with me, I’ll put you to sleep myself.”

He could do it, too. And right now Piper doesn’t have a fraction of the strength necessary to resist that kind of magic. “I…fine.” He tries to take a step toward the door.

No strength. Without his knees locked under him anymore, he buckles, and, for the third time in the last minute, he’s caught by Bash. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters.

Then something’s picking up his legs, and there’s an arm circling around his back, and Bash lifts him up as if cradling a child.

It’s consummately embarrassing. Piper pushes at Bash’s chest. “Put me down, I can walk—“

Bash snorts, heading for the rear door. “No you can’t. You almost did a faceplant two seconds ago.”

“I would rather  _crawl_  than have you carry me—“

“Piper, just—just relax for a minute. Okay?” He turns, pushes the door open with his hip. “Just let me do this for you. I was really worried.”

Piper doesn’t respond, envisioning what it must have been like from Bash’s point of view, watching Piper stand, stumble, and collapse. If he’d seen that happen to Bash, watched him hit the ground out of nowhere… “Okay. Sorry.”

Bash kisses the top of his head.

Piper smiles to himself. Of course, he wouldn’t have been able to carry Bash in his arms at this kind of pace. Or any kind of pace. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a guest house for visiting dignitaries and stuff. Kendul put me up there when I crashed for a bit.”

“Uh-huh.”

Clouds of breath rise from his lips. Bash’s chest rumbles. “You’re really hot.”

Piper manages half a grin. “Nice to know you still want to do me even when I’m—“

“You know what I mean, Piper. Like,  _hot_  hot. You put out that fire hours ago, shouldn’t you be fine by now?”

He sighs. He did know what Bash meant. “Just haven’t had time to release it. Don’t worry, I won’t blow anything up by accident.”

“Does it…hurt you or anything?”

The only way to get rid of it is to mete it out little by little. Too much concentration he couldn’t afford, not when he was healing. Far easier to lock it up and leave it there. But even so, that was a huge blaze, and the heat it’s been sloughing off has made him feel like he’s burning up from the inside out.

And there’s a whole lot more ready to burst out and consume everything it can find.

“Doesn’t hurt me. Just kind of annoying, that’s all.” He rests his forehead against Bash’s chest and closes his eyes.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

Then he’s being jostled, and he frowns, squinting. “Hm? What happened?”

Bash’s face. And above that…a ceiling. When did they get inside? “You fell asleep in my arms.”

Piper groans.

Bash gazes at him with helpless adoration. “It was really cute.”

He’s on a bed now, apparently, and rolls onto his side. “Shut up.” Then he grits his teeth and sits up again. “Wait, I want to change. I’ve been in these clothes forever.”

“Okay. Uh, your stuff’s probably still with your horse, right? You can use mine.” Bash goes to the opposite wall of the small, tidy room.

Piper catches what Bash chucks at him, then, still sitting on the bed for fear of collapsing again, starts to strip.

“You know, you’re really hot.”

Piper smirks. He knows what Bash means this time too. The clothes are far too big, but he doesn’t mind in the least having to appropriate them. “Thanks.”

“Have a good nap.” Bash heaves a deep sigh. “I gotta go, but I’ll be back to check on you. And make sure you’re still asleep instead of doing anything stupid like trying to get yourself killed helping people.”

“I know.” He lies down. Oh, that’s nice. “Wait, can you—“

Bash stops by the door.

Piper goes on before his self-restraint returns to him. “—stay? Just until I fall asleep. Which should be about…ten seconds.”

Bash pries off his boots on the way to the bed, then crawls in behind Piper, pulling the covers over them both. One powerful arm wraps around Piper’s chest.

Just what he needs. It’s been a taxing day. And night. So, finally, he lets the bone-deep exhaustion drag him down.

——

At first he thinks it’s the heat that wakes him, because he feels like he’s been dropped into a vat of boiling water. He kicks the covers off and rolls himself upright. The fat metal heating pipe arcing across the ceiling barely has the room up to lukewarm, and still it’s like worst days of midsummer.

Then there’s a scream outside.

He stumbles to the window and squints down at the street. Someone runs past.

Something pursues her.

Piper watches her pass. She reaches an intersection. As her green-skinned pursuer follows her, it’s shot full of fiery bolts. Crossbowmen, hidden on the side streets. It shrieks and twirls upward, aflame.

The fae. They must be attacking again.

 _We’re safe if they haven’t shown up by now._  Right. Good one, Bash. Piper grits his teeth, jams his feet into his boots, and heads out the bedroom door, down the stairs, on to the street. The light’s still weak. He can’t have been asleep more than an hour.

His weapons are with his horse and he has no idea where his horse is. But he doesn’t need a mace and shield for this. Kos’s voice in his head.  _They don’t like fire._

Well, he has plenty of fire.

The burning creature sees him on the street and dives down, screeching out a piercing wail. Piper, as always, stands his ground. His left arm feels light without a shield.

He brings his hands forward and claps them together.

The fire leaps out of him, contained too long and now roaring for escape. The explosion fills the small square, and Piper has to wrestle it down before it sets the adjacent buildings alight. The fae is thrown backwards, cracking into the marble fountain in the middle of the square. The fountain isn’t running in the winter, and it finds no reprieve, its screeches fading as it finally burns to death.

Too much effort to pull the fire all the way back. Instead Piper lets it surround him, and it whirls around him as he walks. “Which way to the main hall?” he calls to one of the ambushers, a man frozen in the middle of reloading.

The man stares at him, then points.

Piper marches across the square. Bash had better not be injured. His first course of action should have been to wake Piper up, telepathically at the very least. There’s been no such message. On second thought, perhaps it’s better if Bash is injured. That’s a more acceptable excuse than wanting to let Piper sleep instead of calling on him to perform his bodyguard duties.

Another fae, swooping through a cross street at roof level, carrying someone in its arms. It looks like it’s made of tree roots, all twisted together into something person-shaped. Piper lashes an arm out, and the fire follows the motion, one orange tongue lashing ten yards into the air to reach the creature’s feet.

Another shriek, and the fae drops its passenger. The woman begins to fall. Piper takes a step forward, then halts. He can’t catch her without setting her alight. So instead he pounds his fist into the ground, knowing there’s no strength left in him but desperately hoping it’s just enough to soften her fall—

The earth erupts, soil breaking and roiling upward from beneath the cobblestones into a pile ten feet high. The woman lands with a  _whump_ , then groans and rolls over.

Piper blinks. Surely an hour of fitful sleep didn’t restore him  _that_  much.

He stands and marches on. Gift horses and all that.

He hears some more altercations as he goes, and detours to reach them. The flames swirling around him reach languidly higher. Tongues shoot up into the sky, sometimes lunging for nearby buildings. But Piper’s vigilant, and he reins those in with effort, channeling them instead into the explosive strikes he aims at the marauding fae. There are only a few in the back streets—he imagines the close environment isn’t conducive to their swoop-and-snatch method of nabbing townspeople.

Inside his roaring veil it’s getting hard to breathe. Piper grimaces. The flames are eating all the air. That’s fine. As he’s done many times before, he allows himself to still, arrests the rise and fall of his chest. His body sheds the need for breath. A small but handy spell.

Then he reaches the main square, with the great hall squatting in the middle, and pauses to take stock of the situation.

Creatures soaring and diving, filling the air above the square. Dozens of them. Some have insectoid wings that seem to burn nicely—flaming crossbow bolts dart across the sky, one or two getting lucky and striking their targets. Most of the fighters are huddled in the overhang of the hall’s roof—which doesn’t make sense; they should be hiding in the buildings. Piper realizes. They’re protecting the sick and wounded. It’s a tough situation.

Then one peculiar fae—with leaf-green wings and a body like a dandelion head that’s only half gone to seed—sinks almost to street level, at the near side of the hall. One woman there shouts in alarm, and frantically her companions raise their crossbows, struggling to reload and light the bolts—

The creature’s appearance finally jogs the memory loose. Kos telling him,  _they sent out these…I don’t know, like dandelion seeds or something. It was like poison._

Sure enough, tiny white spores start to break off in the fae’s wake.

No. Not more sick. The healers won’t be able to handle it. Piper sweeps both arms forward, and the fire follows, crashing out in a gigantic wave. It consumes the creature instantly. Then there’s more screaming, and Piper realizes his mistake—the defenders were caught between the wall of fire and the side of the hall.

Panic strikes him like a blow, and at the fire swells in response. But he drags it back with a heady rush of terror and slams himself down into the trance. It feels as if he’s running through a solid wall of mud. There are faint flickers in his sixth sense, of flames digging into the fighters’ clothing. The clothes must be flame-retardant somehow, because the fire is having trouble catching. Piper recalls it, dragging and dragging, until finally he’s got it all in hand again. Once that’s done, he lets the trance go and picks himself up off the ground (must have fallen during the trance and not noticed—he dusts off his knees).

Time to find Bash. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and starts walking.

It’s not hard. Piper just follows the battle cries. He’s around the other side of the hall, being as loud as he can to draw the attackers’ attention. He doesn’t appear injured, which means he’s getting a talking-to when this is over.

A moth-like fae swerves above him and dives. Bash crouches, then leaps, shooting forty feet into the air. The fae is agile and twists out of the way—but then Bash vanishes, and it halts, hovering in midair, its wings beating.

Bash plummets down from above, Kumashte’s bright blade piercing the creature through. It squeals and starts to drop, Bash falling with it.

Shit. Piper’s usually the one who cushions the fall. As before, the magic is bounding to get out of him, robust and ready to use. He begins shaping it, the geyser of air rising from the ground beneath Bash—

The fire starts to slip its leash.

Piper abandons the air spell, gathering the fire in close around him so it doesn’t explode. It’s really hot. Has it always been this hot? And it seems denser now than it was before.

“Whoa, Piper! That’s new!” Bash, having landed on his own, apparently.

Piper calls back through the rush of flames. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine!” Bash flashes a thumbs-up. “You?”

“You should have woken me up.” Piper strikes upward with the swirling blaze, catching two fae with the blow.

“Yeah, well—let’s talk about this later, okay?” Then he’s gone, launching himself once more into the sky.

The fae shoot by overhead, veering around Piper’s tower of flames. Piper tracks them and picks them off, one by one. He won’t risk another broad sweep like the one that almost got some of Needlefall’s citizens a minute ago.

Especially since the fire’s growing more and more recalcitrant. Each lashing tongue he sends out to kill a fae is a momentary release, but then he calls it back in and it’s harder than ever to control. The flames roil and bulge around him. They  _want_  to consume, to run wild, after so long spent trapped inside Piper’s body, a puny vessel for such an enormous blaze. Every reaching arm he sends out and then recalls is like a promise unfulfilled. Even outside of the trance, he can sense the edge of anger. The inferno presses closer on all sides.

Piper doesn’t have time for this. He picks off another fae. The next dodges his first blow, so he bends the long arm of fire, pursuing it, finally trapping it. The creature shrieks and burns. A small victory that only feeds the fire’s appetite.

He scans the air, searching. Bash lands on top of a vine-covered fae, impaling it. As it starts to drop, he vanishes, then appears on the ground below it. The momentum of his fall, though broken by the thin he’s just killed, is still with him, and he rolls as he hits the ground. As he gets to his feet he dusts himself off.

So that’s how he was doing it. Piper feels vaguely obsolete.

The fire gushes out in his distraction. He grimaces as he hauls it back. Like white-hot nails being dragged through his flesh, except not his flesh. Although he does feel very hot.

No more darting shapes cross the sky. Bash must have gotten the last one. Good. Now to take care of the next most present danger.

He gives it a try. The trance is shallow—he can’t afford the focus to push it deeper—but it still helps him probe the flames, get a better hold on them. He issues the command.  _Come to me._

A roar of defiance. There’s not a single inch of give. The inferno whirls around him, hungry and denied. He can barely hold it where it is now.

The inevitable conclusion plays itself out in his mind. It’s a very clear vision. He can practically hear the sonorous  _boom_ as the flames explode and take out the entire town.

The walls of the cylinder are thick around him, but Bash wades through them untouched. He can make himself fireproof. He can make himself anything, actually, a feat Piper is somewhat jealous of. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Hey.” Piper wipes more sweat from his forehead. It stings. “I made a mistake.”

Bash’s face creases in concern—Piper’s least favorite sight. “You’re—you’re burning!” He takes Piper by the shoulders. “You’ve got blisters on your skin?”

“Huh?” Piper lifts a hand, then stops. The back of it is blistered. He can’t believe he forgot. The very first step in the negotiation is  _always_  guaranteeing his own safety—he must have been  _really_  tired— “No—Bash, I can’t hold on to this. It’s going to explode.”

Bash coughs, gritting his teeth. “Can’t breathe in here—listen, Piper, it’ll be okay. I’ll take you somewhere to let this off.”

Piper coughs out a harsh laugh. “Where the hell can I go? Our options are buildings or forest. Everything here is flammable.” He takes Bash’s arm, extending the breathlessness spell over both of them with a tiny gesture of will. Stares at the blisters on the back of his hand. They’re ugly things, big and yellow.

Then he feels the oppressive heat receding. Bash must be returning the favor and keeping the flames off Piper. “Just trust me. But we’re not gonna have much of a window. You need to do it right when I say.”

Piper nods, too scared to argue any further. The fire roars in his ears.

Bash’s arms wrapping around him. “Hold on tight.”

Piper’s barely grabbed on before they’re shooting skyward.

Then there’s a weird, unpleasant sliding sensation, like he’s just been lopped in half. They’re teleporting. Piper will never get used to it. He almost loses his hold on the flames and squeezes Bash tighter, straining to maintain control.

Another sliding, and another. Their upward momentum starts to slow. Turning his face from Bash’s chest, Piper sees nothing but sky around them and wonders how far up Bash went.

Then the roaring dampens, and instead the sound of their own breathing fills his ears. Bash’s shout seems to boom. “Now!”

Inside the little bubble of force, Piper squeezes his eyes shut and slips his hold on the inferno.

The explosion buffets them on all sides, but Bash’s shield protects them. Instead they just spin in the air, which is sickening but preferable to being blown up.

Then Piper’s stomach drops as they begin to fall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Bash murmurs. They teleport again—down, this time, the ground much closer when it appears in the revolving chaos of Piper’s vision.

“We’re going too…fast….” Piper trails off. All that energy he had before is gone. The winter wind seems to slice right through him. He shivers against Bash’s chest.

Bash doesn’t reply. Another teleport. Still they plummet.

On impact Piper feels the shield buckle. For a wrenching second he thinks it might hold.

Then it breaks under them. Bash’s arms tighten, and he turns his body, grunting as he lands hard on his back. They roll across the ground, dust and flecks of stone stinging as they come in contact with Piper’s burned skin.

Idiot. He shouldn’t have done that. As soon as they stop Piper pushes himself to his knees. “What were you—“ He squeezes his eyes shut against a sudden head rush, then goes on. “—thinking?”

Bash groans, shifting. “You’re not in armor.”

It’s true. Bash has his cuirass on, and Piper’s still in just clothes. They aren’t much protection at all against that cold wind, which cuts right through him again. He shivers violently. “Are you h-hurt?”

“Bruises.” Bash sits up, shaking his head, but he snaps to alertness. “You’re—“ He touches Piper’s neck, fingertips resting on the skin. “You’re pale. You’re freezing.”

“I—“ Piper grasps Bash’s hand. It’s burning hot, and he jerks away. Another shiver runs through him, setting his teeth to chattering.

“Come on.” Bash pulls him upright and wraps his cloak around them both. “We’re going inside. Now.”

“Okay.” His thoughts turn thick and slow. He tries to take a step forward and trips over his own feet. But Bash’s arm is firmly around his waist, and he doesn’t fall. Bash is talking to someone. “I have to take care of him.” Someone answers. Kendul. A brief reply Piper can’t make out.

The unpleasant sliding as they teleport again. “Stop,” Piper mumbles. “You’ll get tired.”

Bash pushes open the door of the guest house. “I don’t take orders from you, bodyguard.”

Piper smiles.

Bash drags him into the kitchen, where the squat metal stove is still radiating heat, and sits him on the floor. Piper sticks his hands out. The warmth is nice. Bash comes back with a rolled-up sleeping mat. “Okay, you are going to stay here and rest and not freeze to death, and you are not leaving this house until I say so. Got it?”

Piper nods. “I’m cold.”

There’s a crash as Bash’s cuirass falls to the floor, followed by his chainmail. He unrolls the sleeping mat in front of the stove, then wedges himself behind Piper on the floor, leaning against the cupboard.

Piper leans back as Bash tosses his cloak over them both. “That’s warm,” he mumbles. It’s like sinking into a hot spring. Except they’re both clothed this time, which would be inconvenient in an actual hot spring.

Bash kisses his hair. “Please don’t do that again. I can’t lose you, Piper. I can’t.”

“I’m tired,” Piper tells him.

A sigh. “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Let me fall asleep.” Piper shuts his eyes and curls into Bash’s chest.

Bash squeezes him gently.

——

When Piper wakes up, he’s lying down. But Bash’s warm bulk is still at his back, long hair tickling his neck. Piper has yet to tire of that feeling, and it’s especially welcome now. He doesn’t quite remember yet what happened yesterday, but he remembers it was exhausting.

“Mm.” Piper flips over, eyes closed, wriggling closer to Bash’s fuzzy chest.

Bash licks his face with a long tongue, leaving a generous trail of slobber.

Piper freezes for a moment. Then he heaves a deep sigh and cracks an eye.

A pointy-eared dog stares back at him, panting happily.

Piper groans, sitting up. A truly impressive pile of blankets falls away from him. When did those get there?

The dog stands and stretches, yawning. It licks his face again. “Yeah, yeah,” Piper grumbles, scratching the top of its head.

Someone took off his boots while he was asleep, so he puts those back on and appropriates a few blankets to drape over himself before shuffling outside and heading for the hall. The sky is dark, with just a faint tinge of light crowding out the stars. He must have slept all the way past sunset. The day comes back to him as he walks, and he inspects his hands, frowning. No blisters. Must have received healing while he slept. The dog trots a few yards ahead of him, stopping every now and then to wait, its fluffy tail wagging.

“Piper!” Bash leaps down from the roof of the hall. “Hi!”

A few dozen people are working around the square, the most heavily damaged area in the battle. They look up at the shout, and the dog barks twice. Piper winces. He’s not a big fan of attention. “Hi. You left me with a dog.”

“Uh-huh.” Bash walks over. “I wanted to make sure you stayed warm. You were—really cold. Yesterday. Um, but I did stay for a few hours during the night before I woke up and decided—“

“Yesterday?” Piper looks up at the sky again. The light is more pink than orange—gods damn him. “It’s dawn. I slept a whole day.”

“Yeah you did.” Bash grins.

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters. Useless. “Well, if I can find my coat instead of wearing a hundred blankets, I can help—“

“No, you’re not helping. You’re resting.”

Piper meets Bash’s blithe expression with a glare. “I just rested for a whole day, I don’t—“

“Well, if it isn’t the hero of the hour!”

Kendul appears, smacking his blanket-covered back. Piper staggers. Maybe he’s not back up to a hundred percent. “Uh—hi—“ There are more townsfolk, too, abandoning their jobs and drifting closer. He steps back. This isn’t supposed to be happening. House Hevron are the nobles, he’s just a bodyguard. “I mean—I didn’t do that much, Bash is the one who—“

Bash squeezes his arm. “Babe, you took out more of them than everyone else combined. Including me.”

Piper feels like a dropped stone sinking helplessly into a deep, deep pond. He shuts his eyes. “My apologies, Lord Hevron, I must have misheard you. How did you address me just now?”

Bash stiffens, his smile vanishing. “Uh—Grey. Sir…Grey.”

It’s too late. Kendul’s snickering to herself. Bash wilts. “Please don’t tell my mom. Or his mom.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe here.” She looks out over her assembled citizens. “Right, folks?”

A murmur of assent. Piper grits his teeth.

Kendul turns back to him. “Anyways, we really do owe you. Could’ve lost a lot more.”

“That’s right,” one woman calls. “You got the plaguebringer!”

Piper squints. Her face is familiar. He remembers it, behind the dandelion creature as it swooped by— “Didn’t I…set you on fire?”

She makes a noise of dismissal and waves her hand.

“So thank you.” Kendul nods at him. “On behalf of all of us.”

He’s unused to being thanked. Bash is always the hero in these situations. “You’re…welcome?” he hazards. But this still doesn’t feel right. He jerks his head at Bash. “You know, he’s the only reason I didn’t blow up everyone by accident, so I think technically he saved more people than I did.”

Kendul shrugs. “He wasn’t the one walking around shooting fireballs at fae like picking off turkeys in an open field.”

Bash grins at him and strokes his hair. “Just accept it, Piper. You did good.”

Piper sighs. He just can’t win.

The dog barks again. Piper tries not to interpret it as agreement. He thought the dog, at least, was on his side.

——

They stay a few more days, to help Needlefall rebuild and just in case the fae try a third time. Piper does some more healing despite Bash’s orders. Then he almost passes out again and the old lady he’s treating yells at him, so he’s forced to take regular breaks.

Bash seems in oddly good cheer. It’s true that good cheer is normal for him, but Piper did just have a near-death experience, and Bash has an annoying tendency to worry after him when that happens. He’s not doing so now.

They depart on the morning of day six, on well-rested horses. Bendret, the woman he set on fire, has knitted him a scarf. He tucks the tails into his coat as they ride out.

Bash’s good humor disappears as soon as the palisades are out of sight. Piper doesn’t press. If Bash is troubled, he’ll come out with it on his own. A quality they don’t share.

They’ve finished dinner and set up camp for the night before he says anything. “I know you’re supposed to be my bodyguard.”

“I  _am_  your bodyguard,” Piper corrects.

A brief grimace. There’s not a lot that irritates Bash, but Piper’s stubbornness will do it. “Yes. I know you’re my bodyguard. But that’s not  _all_  you are. Okay? You saved a ton of people back there. Stopped a fire from spreading across the town. That was amazing.”

Piper shifts uncomfortably. “House Hevron’s the important one. They should be thanking you. I just work for you.”

“No, they shouldn’t. You did way more than I did. But—gods  _damn_ , Piper, you didn’t have to.”

“Yes I did. You couldn’t put out that fire.” It’s not in Bash’s repertoire of magic.

“Turns out you couldn’t either. Or shouldn’t have,” Bash points out. “Not alone. If you’d grabbed me, I could’ve helped you handle it, at least. And that wouldn’t have hurt me, you know that.”

Considering the consequences of doing it on his own, that’s not a bad point. Piper pulls his legs up to his chest and doesn’t reply.

“Look…” Bash leans back. “You’ve noticed I don’t take as many risks these days, right?”

“Yeah. Because you’re an adult now.”

“No. Because a risk for me goes straight back to you.” He watches the campfire between them. “I know you want to protect me, Piper, and if I put myself in danger, you’ll throw yourself in there too without a single thought for your own safety. So I thought if I stayed away from danger, then we’d be okay. You’d be okay.” He smiles in the flickering light. “And then you go and pull something like this. How am I supposed to protect you from yourself?”

Piper rests his chin on his arm. “I had to do it. Needlefall couldn’t take on all those fae without help.”

 _“Our_  help.” Bash comes around the fire. “I know you’re supposed to be my bodyguard, but you do a whole lot more than just that. And we can do it better if you let me help you. Okay? Don’t try and carry the weight of the world alone.” He pulls Piper in, kisses his forehead. “I’ve got  _way_  bigger muscles.”

Piper snorts despite himself.

“We’re together, okay?” Bash runs fingers through his hair. “So let’s do this together.”

Piper thinks about it, gazing into the campfire. Closes his eyes, leaning into Bash’s shoulder.

_That’s not how this works._


End file.
